


and you're knocking on my heart

by inkwelled



Series: starmoraweek2018 [6]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Gamora Has A Big Heart, Kid Fic, Married Life, Mentions of Body Modifications, Minor Injuries, Original Female Character - Freeform, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Space Pirates, Thanos is mentioned, Well-Deserved Happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-08 00:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: day five ; make your home, love running through— "you know what this means right?" "that i may not be the last one."





	and you're knocking on my heart

**Author's Note:**

> title ; [heart](http://www.jessieearly.com/lyrics/) by [jessie early](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEIqT6RMjj0)

“Hey, uhh….Gamora?” 

She’s already turning at the sound of his voice, worried by the cautious timbers and he just nods to something in front of them. The planet they’re on is packed to the max, people on every corner and every inch of the ground is swarmed with aliens of all species. 

Recognizing a few before they disappear into the masses, she turns, squints. At first she doesn’t see anything but then there’s a break and she inhales so sharply she sees Peter, from the corner of her eye, start to fret. 

For there, in the middle of the street maybe ten feet from where they are, in front of a stand selling various Terren trinkets, is a young Zehoberei. The street is busy with hovers and crafts and people are yelling at her to move, but she just stumbles around, as if she can’t see. 

Around her eyes is red-rimmed and she holds a small toy to her chest, posture frozen and frightened as she begs for help. 

Whatever the name of this planet, she doesn’t remember in the moment, is famous for their orphan population. There had been a huge massacre a few years ago, one of the ones the Guardians had been called to help in, and despite the overwhelming amount of people living there now, most of the indigenous population is either dead or orphaned. 

“I thought you were the last Zehoberei-” her husband is saying as she drops his hand, begins to the fight through the crowd. There’s something prickling at her eyes, a hollow ache in her chest and she doesn’t hear Peter yell her name, start to weave his own way through the crowd. 

Gamora only has eyes for the little girl who had begun to cry, toy held closer until the head threatens to pop off. 

It’s been _decades_ since she’s seen a Zehoberei, the last time being when she was taken. She remembers very little from her planet; all she remembers is that they were happy, if hungry all the time. True, Thanos had fed her and gave her a bed but the very first time she had disappointed him on a mission, he had reminded her of her defenseless, broken planet. 

Years later, after she would escape his thumb and fall far only to rise again by a yellow glow, she would visit her planet only to find it demolished, his threat a truth. Peter would hold her close to his chest that night, rubbing circles into her back as they lay skin to skin, and she would fall asleep to tears and the steady beat of her husband’s heart. 

Shoving another person out of the way, ignoring their indignant cry, she sees a hover speeding down the street. It’s headed straight for the little girl and she’s crying again, louder this time, yelling for help and her mother and no one stops. 

Gamora takes off. 

The hover draws closer and she gains speed, eyes only on the girl. Her cybernetics whir behind her eyes and the little girl is frozen, mouth stretched wide in an incoming cry as the craft grows closer, engine roaring, and her world grows to a pinpoint in time. 

Gamora collides with the little girl and immediately tucks her inside her form as they roll. The concrete is rough against her skin but she barely registers it. On the street, the man in the hovercraft yells something but she doesn’t hear as they skid to a stop beside another stand. 

The crowd continues to flow around them, a few passerby’s halting briefly to see what the fuss is about before continuing on their way and she sits up. Her bones ache and she’s just unwrapping herself from around the girl when Peter bursts through the crowd. 

His eyes are wide, searching, until they fall on her. She smiles crookedly, Knowing he’s going to fuss over her cuts for the rest of the night though they’ll be gone in the morning thanks to the machine under her skin and he runs to her, falls to his knees. 

“You - you okay? I saw you take off and the hover and the little girl oh my god, Gamora, is she okay are you oka - “ she cuts him off by leaning in and resting her forehead against his and shifts to show Peter the trembling girl. 

“We’re both fine.” 

Peter sits back on his heels, runs a hand through his hair. In the sun from the planet, his red leather jacket, not unlike her own, shines and brings out the touches of grey and red in his own dirty blonde hair and in her arms, the little girl begins to whimper. 

Gamora sobers instantly, making light hushing sounds she clings to her. “Shh, it’s okay, I got you.” 

Her and Peter stay there she doesn’t know how long but when the Zehoberei girl stops shaking, she pulls back a little, enough to look down into a face unaffected by machinery. She doesn’t remember her mother other than a fleeting smile and warmth followed by screaming, but she wonders if her mother, if _she_ once looked like this. 

Peter’s the one that speaks up first, crouching as close as he can before the girl shrinks back in Gamora’s arms. “Hey there, little star, it’s okay. I’m Peter, and this is Gamora. Do you know where your family is?” 

The Zehoberei shakes her head, thumb in her mouth and Gamora smooths down her hair, smiling at Peter over her head. He looks up, smiles back, an understanding in his eyes and holds out his hand. “How would you like to come with us then? We have a nice, fluffy bed in our ship and plenty of food for growing girls.” 

He pokes at her stomach and a giggle bubbles from the Zehoberei’s belly. Gamora stands, the little girl still clinging to her, hair clenched in the fist not clutching the toy and containing the finger in her mouth and she turns, laces her free hand with Peter’s. 

“Whoa, babe, you’re bleeding.” 

The little girl against her hip doesn’t shift when Gamora looks down at her arms and notes that she, in fact, bleeding. There’s a patchwork of cuts of various depths and lengths etched into her skin and it’s only when Peter’s thumb brushes over a deep one on her forehead that she notices the stinging. 

An hour later, they’re back at the Milano. After going their (very close) separate ways, Rocket had won the Bentant in the last game of cards so Gamora proposed they build their _own_ ship and name it after the one they’d wrecked so badly. 

A year later, the Milano had been up and running, more high-tech than anything either had ever ridden in but not so over-the-top that they’d be devastated and broke if it was totaled. As they climb the stairs, Peter’s thankful he had the foresight to put in more than one bed in case the Guardians ever dropped by. 

By the way the Zehoberei is clinging to his wife, she might be with them awhile. 

He’s okay with that. 

See, Peter’s wanted kids since they got married two years ago, but had respected Gamora didn’t want any from _her._ Terrified beyond belief that she would be an awful mother because of Thanos, she swore off having kids and Peter agreed that was fair and that in their own time, they could adopt if she wanted. 

By the longing and excited looks Peter’s been giving the little girl in Gamora’s arms - not incredibly inconspicuous but when is her husband ever been - she thinks it might not be so bad. While she’s hesitant about her potential role as a parent she knows Peter will be a great father and she hates depriving him of the opportunity because of her own experiences. 

But he understands, and she loves him, and everything is alright. 

Her footsteps are quiet on the metal and she knows time is limited before Peter finally does something with that worried look on his face and forces her to sit down so he can clean and bandage her cuts. In her arms, curled against her neck, the little Zehoberei girl is sound asleep and doesn’t even stir when Gamora sets her down on their bed. 

She brushes back her knotted hair, smiling softly at the girl’s smooth face in sleep and from the doorway, Peter smiles. Despite her constant insistence that she wouldn’t be a good parent, deprived from maternal instincts at such a young age, there’s a softness in her eyes whenever she used to smile at Groot and now that same warmth is present. 

Gamora doesn’t start when Peter steps into their room, despite his quiet footfalls. After living so long on the same ship, she’s come to recognize the small things; his breathing, the dull and almost unheard thumping he’s picked up from her, so different from his stomping from before. 

She sits on the side of the bed, legs hanging off and he sets a hand on her shoulder as she pulls the blanket up over the sleeping Zehoberei. For a minute, all they do is watch the rise and fall of her form before her husband squeezes her shoulder slightly. 

“I got the medkit, and before you protest I _know_ your implants will heal them but I’d feel better if I could look at them first.” 

She looks up Peter, nodding before reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head after shrugging out of her jacket. The cuts from the concrete cover mostly her arms and face, the rest of her body covered by the trusty red leather she lays beside her and Peter kneels. 

She knows then how shaken he is. Despite them being married for two years and knowing each other for plenty more, Peter still gets immature when it comes to her body. Usually when she needs to be patched up, he’ll wink or whistle and she’ll roll her eyes and remove whatever garments are in the way. 

He works in silence, patting the cuts with chemicals to clean them and rips open bandage package after another to cover them and she’s quiet the entire time, the only sound between them his breathing. 

Peter breaks it first, eyes still fixated on his work as his fingers fly but she recognizes the bow of his spine, how obviously he’s avoiding her gaze. 

“I was so worried, ‘Mora, you just jumped in front of that hover and it _didn’t stop - “_

Gamora sighs, reaching her free hand up to cup his chin and command his gaze. “Peter.” 

He looks up at his name, guided by her hand and she sees the hope shimmering just beneath the tears. Something in her chest aches that isn’t connected to the cuts on her skin and for a split second, feels guilty. 

He doesn’t stop. 

She knows how sensitive Peter is to his team - especially her - getting hurt. They’re all he has; mother and father and Yondu and grandfather gone and even though there’s a little girl on their bed alive and sleeping happily because she put her life on the line, she feels awful for scaring him. 

“ - and I know you can take care of yourself and I _knew_ you’d be okay, logically, because you’re badass, but the hover wasn’t stopping and I can’t run as fast as you - “ 

She draws him into a hug, him still kneeling and her bent over and he sags into her warmth. Tentatively, his arms come around to hold her close and on the bed, the little girl snorts in her sleep. _I thought I was going to lose you,_ he whispers into her skin and she almost cries. 

She doesn’t know how long they’re there but her back begins to ache and she’s sure his knees are too from the metal but neither say a word. 

It’s her that finally breaks the silence. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Peter. It was not my intention and all common sense went out the window when I saw her in the street.” Against her, his chest shudders and she strokes a hand through his faintly curly hair, knowing how much the simple touch means to him. 

“I never thought I’d see another Zehoberei again. I thought I,” she almost chokes on her own words, remembering Thanos and that day and the screams, “was the last one.” 

Peter is quiet in her arms and for a few minutes, they stay like that. Then, voice muffled by her bare skin, “You know what this means, right?” 

She nods, looks back at the little girl on the bed yet again. She’s scared to death that if she looks away for too long, she’ll disappear and she’ll wake and find this is all a dream where she really is the last surviving Zehoberei. 

“That I may not be the last one.”

. 

She’s in the shower when the little girl wakes. 

Underneath the warm water, she sighs and lets the stress and literal weight of the day fade away in the slump of her shoulders. Hands on the wall as water pours from above, she breathes in and tries to process everything. 

There’s a living, breathing, Zehoberei on their ship. 

She’s a Zehoberei. 

It’s widely recognized that she, Gamora Quill, the fiercest woman in the galaxy and now Guardian of the Galaxy, is the last remaining Zehoberei. 

She needs to call Nebula. 

Above her, the water stops abruptly. Groaning at the fading residual ache in her shoulders and arms as she stretches, she steps out and reaches for the towel on the hook. On their last trip to his home planet, Peter had insisted on a few Terran things that while she was skeptical at first, have grown on her. 

The towel is soft against her skin and even though she loves the feeling, skips the blow drier Peter had surprised her with. She’s eager to get back to their bedroom and see the little girl is awake, remembers her name, knows where her parents are. 

It’s a long shot but if they manage to track down her parents, one of them has to be a Zehoberei logically, right? 

She’s nearing their bedroom door when she hears the giggle. Gamora freezes, the sound unfamiliar because yes, she’s heard Peter laugh and knows Mantis’ chuckle and Rocket’s chortle, Drax’s loud guffaw, but she doesn’t recognize this. 

Pushing the door open, she leans on the frame and _watches._

Peter’s on the bed, one leg hanging off and he’s telling the little girl a story, arms waving about, back to her and the little girl is laughing like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard. Something in her chest swells at the sight and she just stands there until Peter is finished with the time they once stole batteries from an evil gold witch. 

“I don’t remember it going quite like that,” she smirks, pushing off her spot at the door and Peter whips around, smiles sheepishly. The little girl is still laughing and her toy is held tight to her chest, blankets drawn up to her neck. 

Her laughter dims slightly when Gamora comes into view, hair wrapped in a towel and clothes soft against her skin, not at all like the leather she’s used to, but she understands. They are strangers to this little girl. 

“I’ll let it pass this once,” she amends, and Peter holds out his hand for a triumphant high-five. 

The Zehoberei blinks back at him, confused, until she reaches out a small finger tentatively and pokes at the middle of his palm. Peter blinks once, twice, before devolving into laughter and Gamora chuckles as well as she slides onto the bed in front of the little girl. 

“Oh man, ‘Mora, please say we can keep her. I like her.” 

Gamora smiles at her husband. “Don’t jump your horse.” 

“It’s hold your horses, babe.” 

She wrinkles her nose. “I hate Terran sayings.” 

Peter’s still giggling when he turns to the little girl. “What do you think, little star?” 

The Zehoberei girl wrinkles her nose, almost an exact copy of what Gamora had done seconds ago and the similarity takes Peter’s breath away. “Horse?” 

He perks up, always excited to talk about his home planet. “Yeah, horse! It’s an animal on Terra, where I’m from, and it’s big enough to ride and it likes eating apples and sugar…” 

As her husband continues to ramble about miscellaneous Terran animals, Gamora surveys the girl in front of her. Her green skin is unmarred but there’s a few differences from what she remembers from her people and she wonders if this little girl is half- Zehoberei, which wasn’t uncommon back on Zen-Whoberi. 

“Where are you from?” 

Peter cuts himself off and fixes her with a curious gaze as the little girl avoids her eyes, looks down and fiddles with her toy. Gamora clears her throat, tries to smile. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very polite of me. I’m just concerned that your parents are looking for you and don’t want to make them worry.” 

The little girl shakes her head, holds her toy so much closer. By her appearance and mannerisms, Gamora would guess she’s about eight and when she talks, it’s quiet, almost indiscernible above the hum of the engine. 

“I don’t know my parents.” 

At that, she’s stunned into silence. She doesn’t know who her parents are? 

Peter, thankfully, jumps in, extending a hand to pat her knee underneath the thin blanket. “That’s okay, little star. If you don’t have a home, you’re welcome to stay with us.” 

She turns a hopeful eye to her husband and Peter puffs out his chest. “We need another girl around here anyways because,” he leans close, whispers loudly, “sometimes my wife stays in the bathroom a long time and I can’t go in. But now that you’re here, it’s solved!” 

The Zehoberei giggles again at that before cocking her head. “Why do you keep calling me a star, mister?” 

A softness crosses Peter’s features, a bit bittersweet and he smiles wistfully. “That’s what my mother used to call me and she once told me she wished I had a little sister, who she would name after her favorite star in her favorite constellation.” 

“What happened to your mama,” she asks, scooting closer and Peter lays back against the covers. In that moment, Gamora disappears and she’s content to watch the two interact. 

“She died when I was a kid,” her husband says but props himself up quickly when he sees the little girl’s lip quiver. “But it’s okay! She’s sitting up in the stars watching over us.” 

“What was she like?” 

A kind, small smile spreads over his face as he leans back on the covers. “She was kind and her laugh was the best sound in the world. She was sick for years before she died but she never let that stop her from taking me to picnics and the park on weekends. We would lie in the grass for hours and listen to music and point out the different shapes of clouds and sip cold lemonade.” 

Gamora sits in silence, stunned. She’s never heard Peter talk this much about his mother in all the years she’s known him. She’s amassed information from little tidbits he’s let slip but she understands it’s a sensitive topic and never presses. 

By this time, the little girl is snuggled up against Peter’s side, tracing her finger along the leather of his jacket. “What was her favorite constellation?” 

Peter sighs, closes his eyes and encircles his arm around her small form. “The Lyra constellation was her favorite but the brightest star of them all was Vega.” 

There’s silence for a second, and then, “I’ve never had a name.” 

At that, Peter opens his eyes and fixes his wife with a confused look.

“You don’t have a name?” 

Bashful, she shakes her head. “If it’s okay, I like the name Vega.” 

Gamora has never seen Peter smile so widely, the only time she can think of that gets close is their wedding and the first time they kissed. He gathers the little girl up in his arms, sits up, hugs her close. 

When his eyes meet hers, she nods and his eyes aren’t the only ones that shimmer in the harsh light of the Milano overhead. 

“Welcome to the family, Vega,” she says and leans close, wraps her _family_ in her arms. 

Yeah, she really needs to call Nebula.


End file.
